


Trice Fallen

by effulgentTroubadour (Azaisya)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Childhood Friends, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humanstuck, Medievalstuck, Multi, OT3, Rebellions, Revenge, kind of, redglare gets the short end of the stick in this narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaisya/pseuds/effulgentTroubadour
Summary: Somehow, a noble, a thief, and an ex-soldier all meet amidst the throes of revolution. Events conspire and, while one rushes to reconcile with an old friend, another struggles to escape her bitter past and the last chafes beneath a tyrannical rule. With a deadly purveyor of justice hellbent on pursuing a karmic cycle of revenge and a rebellion to keep alive, they don't have very much time to dwell on their feelings. Between staying alive and deciding what exactly justice is, the three will need to decide where their loyalties lie.





	1. hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 413! This was originally just supposed to be a short DualSummFang fic for last year's 413, but it got away (very far) from me. I finally finished it a week ago, and I'm excited to finally be posting it! There are three chapters total, and I'll be posting them in the next couple weeks. It's significantly more elaborate than my other fics, but nowhere near as elaborate as it could've been. A comfortable middle ground, if you will.
> 
> Content warnings: semi-graphic depictions of violence, excessive swearing

_Noble_

They first met at one of those fancy parties where everybody wore clothes with lace and silk and lots of make up and gold, where everybody smiled politely and exchanged meaningless conversation full of frivolities like oh what a _wonderful_ necklace, Lady Lerant, are those real diamonds?

 _She_ was wearing a lovely blue dress with a frilly skirt and jewels in her hair. _He_ was wearing a custom suit with a violet tie and a matching rose pinned to his pocket, his hair slicked back and away from his face.

Their parents sat them down across from each other, his father saying idly, “Why don't you two do whatever it is kids your age do,” before leaning across the table to say to her mother, “You look absolutely ravishing today, Arachne."

The two of them exchanged looks that were significantly more bored than their parents, as they were both still young and hadn't quite learned how to school their expressions yet. She smoothed her skirts and daintily lifted a bite of coffee cake to her lips.

Her mother _— Arachne_ , what a name! — turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were cruel and cold, filled with an insatiable hunger. He shivered. “What a delightful young man you're becoming!” she exclaimed, and even her voice sounded menacing. “I remember when you were just a little baby!” Both her _s_ 's and her _b_ 's seemed bigger than her other letters, emerging with more enthusiasm.

He smiled obligingly at her, because that was what his father would've wanted. But he didn't speak, because there really wasn't anything to say to that.

She continued, “How have you been? I'm sure you're very smart, just like your father!”

He giggled a little bit at that, because that felt appropriate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father offering to pour tea for her ( _would you like sugar with that? Just a pinch. Too much ruins your skin, you know. Your dress matches your eyes wonderfully)._ “I am good, thank you. And you?” He knew the proper word was _well_ but it was better to use the wrong word and be thought of as cute than to reveal his stammer.

She smiled ( _oh what a polite little boy_ ) and asked, “Have you met my darling Mariette? Mariette, say hi to him.”

The girl across from him smiled, revealing startlingly sharp canines. “Nice to meet you.” Her voice was nothing like the rest of her. While her appearance was soft and delicate, her voice was brash and fiercely confident.

“It's nice to meet you too,” he said, “I'm Orpheus.”

He briefly wondered if it was appropriate to kiss her hand when they were sitting on opposite sides of a table, but then her mother laid her hand across her shoulders and said delightedly, “Mariette is _very_ good at math, aren't you, darling?”

Mariette merely giggled a little bit, the same way that he had.

Orpheus' father said firmly, “I'm sure she's very bright, Arachne. Have you heard about the elections in Beforus?”

“Oh, those murder cases are simply _dreadful,”_ she declared in the sort of tone one used to describe particularly expensive dolls.

That was how conversations at this level went. You exchanged pleasantries until you had what you wanted and then you were gone.

Both Mariette and Orpheus kept completely silent throughout their parents' exchange, eating and drinking and smiling whenever it was indicated that they should. It was only when the band started playing that something finally shifted. Orpheus' father took Arachne's hand and led her to the dance floor, looking back only to shoot a glance at his son that said _remember your manners_.

Orpheus shifted in his seat and looked mournfully at the rest of the party. He detested these, because he knew he was only ever brought as a conversation starter. One day, when he was old enough, he'd be the one hosting these. He'd be the one with the power and he'd never be simply a decoration. In front of him, Mariette immediately slumped over in her seat, propping her elbows on the table and sighing loudly.

"Lady Light, I thought they'd never leave," she huffed.

Orpheus blinked at her, startled. Suddenly it was easy to pair her voice with her appearance. Now she looked like an Amazon princess, untamable and mischievous despite her petticoats. She noticed him staring and smirked. "Come on." She hopped to her feet and grabbed his elbow, dragging him from his chair. To his dismay, she was taller than him by at least four inches. She misinterpreted his look and laughed. It was nothing like her light giggle from before; this was a full cackle, delighted and completely at the expense of another person. "I'm boooooooored! Let's go have fun." And then they were off, her dragging him through the party, twisting around other partygoers, sprinting beneath tables and hopping over chairs.

"W-wait!" he called, "W-where are w-we going?"

She hissed, "Shut up!" They were running along the wall now, her dashing behind curtains and him tripping on her skirts. They turned a corner and she shrieked, "Oh no!" and dragged him into a side door.

They burst into the kitchen. Heat and smoke filled the air, and Orpheus coughed. She was cackling again, a delightful, mad cackle echoing with the clash of pans and the shouts of the chefs. He ripped his hand from hers. She spun to a stop and whirled around, arched brows settling into a glare.

"Come on, Orpheus. Let's have fun."

He crossed his arms and exclaimed, "You're insane!"

She huffed. Her dress was all askew now, and her curls were starting to fall out. "Jeez! I didn't think you'd be afraid."

Orpheus didn't know what came over him, because suddenly he'd stepped forwards to glare into the taller girl's eyes. "I'm not afraid."

She leaned down to smirk at him. "Prove it."

He opened his mouth to reply, but then one of the chefs grabbed both of their arms and promptly threw them out of the kitchen. They landed in a tangled heap in the hallway they'd just come from, her hissing angrily about servants who didn't respect their superiors. Though he felt the same way, Orpheus also knew that he'd one day be powerful enough to have _all_ the servants. All of them. Complaining now just felt childish. He pushed himself to his feet and extended his hand to her. "Get up, moron."

She raised her eyebrows and knocked his hand aside, springing up herself. "Oh, really?" She propped a childish hand on her hip and grinned. "Now are you ready to have fun?"

"Of course," he said firmly, his own smirk settling over his lips, "But your w-way is too obv-vious. I'v-ve got something _special_ in mind."

She raised her eyebrows, intrigued, and he grabbed her hand and sprinted down the hallway. In the end, they managed to steal a wide collection of jewelry (8 of each kind, because she'd insisted), spit into fourteen different plates without being noticed, and swap the alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. She taught him how to pick pockets, and he taught her how to charm her way into strangers' good graces. Miraculously, they didn't get caught, although they did manage to topple a whole shelf at one point. They still got a rather lengthy scolding from their parents under nothing more than suspicion regardless. But both found in the other a partner-in-crime, a rival, and a comrade. As their respective parents dragged them away from the party, Orpheus waved at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. He flipped her off and she kindly returned the favor.

They'd see each other again and again, sometimes at social events, sometimes when their parents happened to be visiting each other. Each time, they ended up walking away with scrapes, bruises, and more prizes.

And then she and her mother vanished, and Orpheus didn't see her for a very long time.

* * *

 

_Thief_

She first met him in one of those hovels in the part of town that had cracked streets and people armed to the teeth. She sat in the corner, hands cupped around a metal tankard to try and absorb its warmth. He plopped down in the seat across from her and grinned, either ignoring or unnoticing of the poisonous glare she sent his way. "So I heard that if I need something stolen, you're the one to go to."

She put down her tankard and scowled at him. "I heard that if I'm annoyed with somebody, I should slit their throats."

To her surprise, he actually laughed at that. To her dismay, she found that endearing instead of annoying. "You're funny!" he declared, "Would you be interested in hearing my proposition?"

"Depends," she said, lips curling into a smirk. “Buy me a drink.”

He grinned and threw a hand in the air, carelessly grabbing a serving girl’s wrist. “That'll be two White Monsoons, and put one of those little umbrellas in the lady's.”

“Make it blue,” she added, appraising him with new eyes. Either he had been lucky enough to guess her favorite drink, or he'd done some research before barging in here and asking her things. Either way, it was further than most idiots got. She linked her fingers and then rested her chin on them, smirking at him through her lashes. It was a look she’d perfected after hours of staring into a mirror (not that she'd ever admit that). To her pleasure, he didn't even blush, merely leveling just as powerful a smirk back at her. To her horror, her heart was doing flips.

_Damn it. Don't fall in love, you know it's bad for your indigestion._

“So, are you going to introduce yourself?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. She saw the flash of confusion — quickly stifled — in his eyes, the ever present question: _did she wink or was she just blinking?_ Wearing an eyepatch was absolutely _wonderful_. It was significantly easier to pull off the sexy pirate look when she wasn't drowning in skirts and jewelry. She'd found that a splash of gold at her neck and lace in all the right places was infinitely more effective than a fluffy dress.

He grinned back and she had to fight to keep the smirk on her face. _Sweet Prince and Heart!_ He had a rogue's smile, and it was so _unbelievably attractive._

_Damn it, Serket, keep it in your fucking pants._

“I'm Summer,” he said, with that smile still on his lips, “I'm actually a part of an organization called the Bronzelings.”

Delighted to have something to focus on other than that smile, — it really should be illegal for anybody to be that hot — she grinned. It was a savage grin, one she used to make people shift uncomfortably and beg for mercy. He merely settled further into his chair. “Ah! _You're_ the one they call the Summoner, aren't you?”

He blinked, surprise flashing across his eyes. Oh. _Oh._ His eyes were _bronze._ That was so ridiculously adorable; he'd named his little rebels after his eye color. He leaned closer, eyes roving up and down her body. It wasn't the normal way men looked at her. There was definitely some lust in his eyes (it was impossible to look at her without any lust), but he was also looking past her appearance. That in itself was impressive; so many people looked at her and saw nothing more than a whore with a bag of gold. He saw a person, and searched for her motives, her secrets, her intentions.

A smile broke over his face, and his eyes warmed. “Well. I'm impressed.” He laughed a little bit, and her cheeks turned a light pink. “Yeah, I'm the leader of the Bronzelings.”

The serving girl dropped their drinks on the table, muttered something about specials, and then vanished to go help the rest of the drunk idiots who happened to be there. Summer handed her her drink, and she swirled it with the umbrella (blue, as she’d requested).

They toasted, and they both took long sips. His eyes loitered on the faint imprint of her blue lipstick upon the glass. Smacking her lips, she asked, “So, Nitram, what do you need stolen?”

He met her eyes and asked mildly, “Don't you think it's fair I ask your name?”

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly, and she saw his eyebrows twitch as he noticed the emphasis on her _b_ 's — the only thing her mother had ever given her (well, that, a love of spiders and a tendency to apply poison as lipstick).

She downed the rest of her glass and ordered, “Buy me another drink.” He did, and so she said, “I'm Mariette, although they call me—”

“Mindfang,” he said, and he was grinning again. It wasn't the roguish _I dare you to fuck me_ smirk. It was a genuine smile, one that made him look more like an innocent puppy than the leader of a rebellion. “I will be _delighted_ to hear the story behind that.” He popped the _b_ in _behind_ , and a genuine grin flashed across her lips.

_Not badly played, Mr. Nitram!_

“Maybe one day, Summ,” she said, trying to sound aloof and mysterious. _Light,_ she needed to stop staring at his lips.

He shrugged. “Alright then.” The serving maid dropped the new glass in front of Mariette (she tutted; he'd forgotten the umbrella) and he said, “I want you to steal a weapon.”

She nodded, unimpressed. He noticed her look and transferred the umbrella from her old cup to her new one, and she smirked at him and took a sip. “A weapon,” she prompted.

He nodded, and she felt a little pleased that _he_ couldn't stop staring at her lips either. “Oh. Yeah. A weapon. You know Her Imperiousness?”

Mariette snorted and said loudly, “No, I don't know the Empress of Alternia because I've been living under a goddamn _rock_ my whole life!”

Summer jumped and, looking rapidly at the other patrons, hissed, “Shh!”

She sighed dramatically and gulped down a large sip. She wasn't yet feeling the buzz of the alcohol and knew from experience that it would take at least one and a half more for it to even begin to effect her. “Summer, everybody here is too drunk or stoned to bother reporting us to the Imperial Guards if we talk treason.”

A strange look crossed his face, one that she wasn't able to place. Annoyed, she downed a drink and sighed.

“Summer. Focus. What do you want me to steal?“

He hesitated. “I won't insult your intelligent by asking if you know **Ψ** _don's Entente.”_

She feigned a clueless look and he, seeing through it immediately, rolled his eyes.

“Well, Her Imperiousness uses a different trident because the Entente is too expensive to use for anything other than ceremonial events.” Mariette nodded once, and he added casually, “Mind stealing it for us?” He flashed that smirk at her again.

_Oh, to hell with it! I'm gonna fuck him if I feel like it!_

She didn't ask why he needed it or risk ruining her reputation by implying it wasn't impossible. On the contrary, she smirked and leaned closer to him. “Buy me another drink and we can talk prices.”

In the end, she charged him an outrageous amount, thinking wryly that he was buying both her skills and her heart. It ended up taking her just over a month to steal it, and when she gave it to him, he kissed her. It wasn't her first kiss by far, but it was certainly the first that electrocuted her so completely.

_Light, Serket, you just love to fall for the absolute worst people you can possibly fall for, don't you?_

* * *

 

_Ex-soldier_

He met him when he was tied to a chair and gagged, his limbs aching from the ambush that he had recently succumbed to (hence why he was bound and gagged).

The door banged open and _he_ came in, decked out in a fabulous piece of armor that was more stylish than practical, twin lines zigzagging across his chest in the vague pattern of a wave. He scowled and asked, voice deep yet unbelievably smooth, “Are you ready to talk yet, Bronzeling?”

Summer raised his head and fixed the most sarcastic stare he could manage on the other man. Slowly, dramatically, he made several incomprehensible noises.

The other man's face settled familiarly into a scowl, the twin scars across his face twisting as his brow furrowed. He strode forwards with confident, powerful steps and ripped the gag off. “Talk,” he ordered.

Summer took a deep breath and smelled ocean. _Well._ But the ground wasn't moving, so they weren't on the water. “I must say, Lord Dualscar, you look absolutely fantastic today! You must take absolutely forever getting ready in the morning. I envy that do; it looks good on you! With your hair all brushed back like that— oh wait, you missed a strand! It's hanging right by your—”

The nobleman promptly smacked Summer across the cheek. Having expected that, Summer was able to prevent himself from biting through his tongue. Still, the blow stung, and he found no humiliation in falling silent.

Mariette would probably keep talking, but she was arrogant and vain like that. Summer wasn't.

Lord Dualscar snarled, “Don't test me, fucker. Her Imperiousness may w-want you aliv-ve, but I hav-ve absolutely no qualms ev-viscerating you and framing the pieces.”

Summer scowled but managed to hold his tongue. He knew perfectly well that he was _very_ good at pissing off the royals, and pissed off royals with blades plus a tied up Summer made for a very bad conversation. He also didn't trust himself to keep important information in; he knew that, deep down, he was a coward. And cowards told the enemy about the valley that housed the Bronzelings headquarters. Cowards got people killed. Cowards led the royals straight to Mariette.

Lord Dualscar slipped a bejeweled dagger from his belt and Summer felt the smirk that was his false confidence fall over his lips. Dualscar was terrifying, his expression utterly serious. He had the upper hand, and he knew it. He took his sweet time, too, inspecting the dagger and shining it with a purple handkerchief. He seemed to exude the same quiet power that Mariette had, the type that said _I am a person to be feared._ Summer's heart began beating faster than a mouse's, and he had to physically remind himself to breathe. The words _oh knight and blood I'm going to die_ ran through his head in a blur, and he felt faint.

When Dualscar turned to him, dagger held loosely in his palm, his lips twisted into a cold smile. "I'm not going to bother insulting your intelligence if you don't insult mine." He laid the dagger down on a table and Summer was ashamed that he sagged in relief. Still, Dualscar's glare was sharp as glass and dangerous as lightning. "I know-w who you are, Summer Nitram. I know-w w-what you do. Tell me. If you w-were me, w-what w-would you do to topple the whole rebellion?"

Summer stared at him, bewildered. It didn't show on the outside, of course, but he was stunned. Lord Dualscar, her Imperiousness' right hand man, knew his face? More importantly, he knew his face as _Summer Nitram_ , ex-soldier of Her Imperiousness’ army. Not as the _Summoner_ , leader of the rebellion. He looked at him with new eyes and saw, to his shock, traces of Mariette in him. They both stood with the same way, feet planted firmly in the ground and arms crossed. On her, it was a dare, a taunt, a bait. On him, it was a warning, a shield, a suit of armor. They both fidgeted with their swords, nimble fingers dancing across the pommel and tapping a pattern into the hilt.

And yet . . . they were still distinctly different. Where she had a sarcastic smile, he had a dark glare. Where she was sharp, he was tough. Where she was lithe, he was strong.

Still, it gave Summer an _idea_ for how to deal with him. Dealing with Mariette was his specialty; it shouldn't be too hard to figure Dualscar out, should it? But then he opened his mouth and all memories of _how_ exactly he dealt with Mariette conveniently flew out the window. "Um. What."

Dualscar scowled. "Who should I kill, Nitram. Who should I kill."

Summer shut his mouth because the real answer to that was _me_ and that sounded like a stupid thing to say. "Oh. Why the fuck do you think I'll tell you?"

The royal pulled up a chair and sat down. To Summer's disappointment, the other man was taller. "Listen to me, Summer. There are so many things I could do to you right now-w. I could peel the skin from your face. I could cut off your fingers. I could depriv-ve you of food or w-water. I could do so v-very many things."

For some reason, his strange stutter didn't make him any less threatening. He didn't even seem to notice his stutter, as if it was beneath him to care about such a thing. It just made the entire situation five times more terrifying and Summer hastily tried to recall the breathing exercises Mariette had taught him. Breathe in for five seconds, out for seven. Or was it vice versa? Was it eight seconds? Was he supposed to hold his breath somewhere in there? He decided that the best way to go about this was to tell the truth. "There's not one person you can kill who will just stop the rebellion. I mean, sure, you can kill the guy in charge," _me_ , "but somebody else will step up to take hi-their place," _Mariette_ , "and there's nobody who really _keeps_ everything going," _Mariette_ , "and this is really complicated so wait what."

 _Mariette_? How did Mariette keep everything going? All she did was complain and fight and act cocky. With a sinking feeling, Summer realized what exactly Mariette did. She was the brains of the rebellion. She was the one who helped him. She was the one who _he_ depended on.

 _Oh Sylph. He could just kill Mariette_.

Dualscar raised his eyebrows elegantly. "W-what w-what?"

Summer swallowed hard and looked away from his piercing gaze. "Nothing. There's nobody you can kill." He heard movement but he still didn't look up, and so he didn't see what was happening before it happened. Pain, sharp and white hot, exploded in his hand, and he let out a raw scream.

Once his vision cleared, Dualscar was sitting comfortably in his chair and his dagger was sticking straight through Summer's palm.

Gasping for breath, Summer blinked tears from his eyes. "What the hell?!" he demanded, more out of shock and pain than any real indignation.

Dualscar calmly inspected his fingernails. "I said not to insult my intelligence, fucker. There is somebody I can kill. There alw-ways is." A cold sneer spread across his lips, something that was infinitely more terrifying than the expressionless mask before it. "Do you not w-want to tell me?" He listened to Summer's ragged breathing for several seconds, watching as the other man struggled to escape from his bonds, muscles taut and face twisted with pain and anger. "Of course you don't. You don't w-want me to destroy your precious rebellion." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "No, it's more personal than that. You're familiar with the person I should kill, aren't you?"

"Go to hell," Summer snarled, which was the same thing as saying _yes_. He didn't care, though. His brain was spinning and his heart was pounding faster than it ever had before. He couldn't even think about trying to escape. He was tied to a chair and the only weapon he had was currently _embedded in his flesh_ and Dualscar was sitting in front of the door.

Dualscar's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You w-wouldn't be so fucking transparent if it w-was you. A friend? A lov-ver?" His grin widened and Summer wondered desperately if he'd physically flinched at that. Oh God he hoped not. "It _is_ a lov-ver."

"Oh my God," Summer gasped, which was the same thing as saying _yes_. Why was he so bad at this?!

Dualscar opened his mouth and began, "Is it—"

At that exact moment, the door burst open. It didn't just swing open; it _flew_ open, tearing right off the hinges and slamming right into the back of Dualscar's chair. Summer fell completely still, eyes wide with shock, as Dualscar leaped to his feet and drew his sword. There was a flash of blue and black and suddenly Dualscar was leaning against the hallway on the other side of the door, bleeding from a gash on his arm. He was swearing violently, and his assailant crouched by Summer. Bright cerulean eyes gleamed from beneath a bronze mask.

It was Mariette.

Summer had never been so torn in his life. On one hand, he was so _relieved_ to see her, to know that she was safe. On the other hand, _Dualscar was going to figure out that she was the one he needed to kill_.

"Man, you've got yourself into a real bind this time!" she exclaimed, going to work at the knots tying his wrists to the chair. He didn't need to see through the mask to know she scowled when she saw the dagger in his hand.

Dualscar rose to his feet and snarled, "You're trapped, you know-w!"

Mariette froze, eyes going wide beneath her mask. Not wanting her to be distracted, Summer urged, "Mare, my legs."

She shook herself and hastily chopped away the ropes binding his legs to the chair. She paused, hand hovering over the dagger. Summer placed his other hand over hers and directed it to the hilt. Her eyes crinkled a little bit in a sympathetic smile, and then she ripped it out. Summer was barely able to bite back a scream, but his vision swam and suddenly the air filled with the clash of metal.

Instinctively, Summer threw himself away from the sound. He and the chair landed with a crash against the wall, and his hand screamed in protest. His palm and fingers were slick with blood and he felt faint from pain but he still surged to his feet and tried to figure out what was going on.

Mariette and Dualscar were fighting, his long silver blade crashing against her hooked blue one. Summer snatched the bloody dagger with his good hand and raced in to help. Mariette fell back to his side seamlessly, the two of them instinctively falling back into the familiar pattern of slashing and hacking. Summer couldn't help grinning through his pain; he could never forget how _good_ it felt to fight alongside Mariette, how good it felt to be reminded of just how well they knew each other. Dualscar was very obviously outmatched, but he also had an advantage; the room they were in was a rather small room at the end of a long hallway with just one door leading to the outside. The hallway wasn't large enough for either of them to slip past him, and he didn't need to fight them both. He just had to step back and see if they would take the bait.

They didn't, falling back further into the small room. Summer didn't need to read her mind to know that she knew that they would be at a disadvantage in the hallway, where they wouldn't be able to fight side by side.

Mariette took a deep breath and stepped forwards. Summer couldn't grab her shoulder, with one hand holding a dagger and the other dripping blood, but he could knock his elbow against her. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Don't," he hissed.

Her eyes merely narrowed and he knew she was smirking. "You know it's logical."

He scowled at her, but he was also losing blood fast. She knew that. He knew that. And so she hefted her sword and darted into the hallway, blade rising up to meet Dualscar's.

The two fought back and forth, Dualscar refusing to give up ground and Mariette doing her best to beat him back towards the door. To Summer's horror, they were well matched. He couldn't see who would win. Even though Dualscar was injured, Mariette was still tired from the ambush earlier. Summer could tell from the way her feet moved; she normally liked to use lots of fancy footwork because she was a show off that way. But now she was simply sticking to the basics, trying to conserve her energy. Summer lingered behind her, feeling useless and exhausted.

Mariette's free hand tossed something at him; Summer couldn't catch it, and so he simply watched it fall to the floor. It was a die, glittering blue and with eight dots facing up. He knew immediately that she was about to make a break for it and steeled himself to go.

Mariette's voice broke through the hallway, harsh yet clear, "Orpheus Ampora!"

Dualscar's blade faltered. "How-w—" he began, but then Mariette pressed harder, her blade nothing more than a cerulean blur.

She kept talking, her words flowing from beneath her mask. "You courted a girl when you were thirteen, only you were a selfish prick and she even more so but then she was gone because her mother had been killed and you were left alone with your father and it was horrible because he was horrible but he was even worse after her mother was killed but you still loved her because she was the only light in your fucking miserable childhood and you know what I'm talking about, Orpheus, you _know_."

Her words didn't make much sense to Summer, but Orpheus was staring at her as if he'd seen a ghost. His attacks were growing sluggish and sloppy.

Mariette drew back and threw her mask off, revealing those vividly bright cerulean eyes. Her voice was terribly emotionless as she said, "So don't you fucking dare kill her now."

Dualscar took a physical step backwards, his sword clattering to the ground. "Oh my G-God," he gasped, eyes wide and face pale, " _Mariette_. Oh my _God._ W-what are y-you d-doing?"

As a response, Mariette grabbed Summer's uninjured hand and promptly raced past him, throwing open the door at the end of the hallway and racing into the night.

 

Summer didn't remember much from that night. Mariette ended up bandaging his hand for him in the middle of a forest because she hadn't planned far enough in advance to get somebody who could take them to headquarters. He was nearly delirious from pain and blood loss at that point, and so he couldn't be quite sure what was true and what wasn't. He knew for a fact that she started a fire and cooked something that tasted awful. The memories after that got significantly more foggy. He vaguely remembered her tearing both of their clothes off at some point so that she could wash them. This left them both completely naked, although neither really cared for sex at the moment. Summer just remembered lots of cuddling and holding each other. He was certain that he was hallucinating at that point, however, because he remembered Mariette crying.

Mariette never cried.


	2. as we walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A palace is burned down and a mercenary is hired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update; I've been unexpectedly busy. I recently got into TAZ (I just finished Petals to the Metal) so feel free to hit me up with some Hurley/Sloane prompts! The next update (and the last) will come in the next couple weeks.

_Rebel_  

In the morning, she woke him with a teasing, "You slept in, dumbass." The insult was affectionate on her lips, but her smile was wan.

Summer squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. He felt absolutely awful, and his hand hurt like hell. He had a headache and his throat felt like it was full of fuzz and why did it have to be so bright?!

He reluctantly opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in a hollow formed by a tree trunk and an indentation in the ground. Mariette was above him, her hair framing his face as she looked down at him. She'd draped her cape over him, but she was still completely naked. He sat up and hissed when his injured hand brushed a tree root. She got out of his way and sat back on her heels, watching him with worry in her eyes. He looked at his hand and was relieved to see that bandages covered the wound. True, there was a dark spot where he'd bled through, but it was better than seeing the actual wound. He tried wiggling his fingers, but it hurt too much. Terror shot through him. Words tumbled painfully from his throat. "Oh my God, Mariette, it's broken. My hand's broken. What if I can't fix it?

She gently shushed him, pressing a chaste kiss to his earlobe. "Don't worry, love. Orpheus is good enough that he avoided your artery and bones."

He gaped at her. "Mariette! There's  _nerves_ there too!"

She wiggled her left hand at him, which — as always — was hidden in a glove. "Then we can match! See, it's your left arm, too."

He shuddered. "Mare, I don't want Zahhak operating on me. It was bad enough watching him do it to  _you—_ "

She shrugged then, and he fell silent. Wordlessly, she waved a roll of gauze at him. He nodded, held out his hand, and looked decidedly at the tree. It hurt as she cleaned it out, but he managed not to make too many noises. Once he felt her tie off the knot on a new bandage, he allowed himself to look back at it. He couldn't feel the tips of his fingers, which wasn't a good sign.

She handed him a flask and he gratefully gulped it down, ignoring the water that splashed over his lips and dripped down his neck. She hastily took it back, snapping, "We only have so much, you know!"

He laid back against the tree, eyes fluttering shut. "Sorry," he mumbled. He was so very tired.

A cold hand shook him and his eyes flew open. She said firmly, "Summer. Get up. We need to get back to headquarters to get your hand checked and to get new supplies. Orpheus is probably looking for us as we speak."

Grimacing, Summer nodded. "Yeah. That's a good idea." As she went to get dressed, he slowly and painfully stood. "Hey, Mare?"

She looked up from where she was buckling her belt. "What?"

"Could you . . . um . . . help me?" He hated this. He hated this so much. But her expression merely softened and she nodded, grabbing his clothes and helping him. She only teased him once.

 

By the time they were on the road, Summer felt significantly better. The fact that he had eaten and gotten dressed probably helped. Mariette still had that strange look on her face, and she wasn't smiling as easily as usual. She still kept her head up to watch for bandits or more dangerous creatures, but she wasn't walking with her normal swagger.

Now that he was no longer so focused on himself, Summer could see that. After he was sure that they weren't going to have to run for their lives any minute now (and also that Dualscar was far, far behind them), he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mariette lied. It was a transparent lie, an automatic response. When Summer merely raised his eyebrows, she sighed. "I was worried about you, alright? What else was I supposed to feel? We'd gotten ambushed and everything was smoke and screams and the next thing I knew, you were gone! What was I supposed to do, other than race after you to try and get you back?"

"Mariette. . . ." he sighed.

"It's what you would've done for me," she shot back, a hint of her usual fire audible in her voice.

Summer shook his head. "Stop lying to me, Mare. You forget that I can tell."

She glared at him, arched brows dropping low over her eyes. "I'm not lying."

Summer took her hand in his, linking their fingers together. He had to use his right hand, which he detested. Her left hand was never fun to hold. Now, in the early morning, the cold had seeped deep into her metal fingers. He could feel it even through her glove. "Lies of omission are still lies, love."

"Lies of omission are fucking nonexistent," she snarled, but he raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She sighed again, but louder. "Fine! It was Orpheus, like you already fucking know! I didn't know he'd be there, but once I found out . . . I was hoping to grab you without having to reveal myself to his stupid fucking face with his stupid w-wav-vy hair." He heard Dualscar's stutter in her voice, and was shocked at how accurately she was able to mimic his accent.

"How long have you known him?" It was no longer a question of if she knew him, but how.

Mariette shrugged as dramatically as she could. "How am I supposed to know? I don't even remember when we met. He was just a stupid fucking constant in my life. That one idiot I could always count on to be there even when I didn't want him to be!" Her distress was starting to crack her normally flawless mask. Her voice was rising and her expression was slowly becoming more obvious. "I hated him  _so fucking much_ , but it was okay, because that was how our relationship worked! But then he became Her Imperiousness' pet and I became a criminal-for-hire." She laughed bitterly.

Summer quickly checked that nobody else was on the road. Nobody was. Of course. Who else would be hiking in the wilderness this early? And so he took Mariette and kissed her on the lips, right there in the middle of the road. He felt her shock, and was pleased when he felt her relax. When he pulled away, he said gently, "It's okay. You're okay, right?" She nodded mutely. "So it's okay. Right?"

Mariette shrugged miserably. "I just. . . . I wish that it had happened differently. I used to want to run away with him, you know? Get away from our parents, live our lives stealing everything we could. We would've been the best!" With a start, he realized that she  _had_ been crying last night. She was crying again now, and she wiped the tears away angrily. "I used to dream that I'd meet him again and I'd convince him to leave Her Imperiousness and come help me plan heists and steal fortunes."

She buried her face in his shoulder and gasped until she was able to stop crying. Summer just held her to him as well as he could. He could feel himself growing distressed as well. Not because of what she was saying, but rather simply because of the fact that she herself was distressed. He didn't like it when she was upset.

He suspected other men would be jealous of Dualscar right now. Or at the very least angry or upset at him. But he wasn't. He merely wished he could make it better for Mariette. But he didn't know what to say, and so he just stroked her hair and pressed kisses along her brow.

After a while, she stepped away. "He was my childhood," she said softly, "but you're my life." This time, she kissed him. Her lips tasted of her tears, but he didn't care. He knew she hated saying sentimental things like that. She thought they were silly and useless. But they meant a lot to him, and he knew that she only said it because of that.

It struck him that he really did love her.

That this wasn't just a quick fling or a relationship formed in the heat of the moment. He loved her with his entire being. The rebellion and its cause gave him something to die for. She gave him something to live for.

 

Later, around noon, she admitted, "I'd never imagined our meeting would occur in a rundown building on the bad side of the Derse Sector."

He added, "Or that I'd be tied to a chair."

She laughed, and he smiled.

* * *

_Noble_

It took Orpheus three days of sulking around his mansion to decide to track her down, three days of agonizing over whether his loyalty to his Empress or to the girl he'd thought he would marry was stronger. In the end, as he traced the scars across his face, he decided he'd never really loved the Empress anyways.

(He could still remember the three deadly prongs, two digging into his skin and one tangling with his hair)

It took him a week to figure out which of his contacts could handle a job like that and which wouldn't say anything to Her Imperiousness. In the end, he narrowed it down to three people. He picked his final choice because of her skill and prayed she wouldn't tell her boss about it. It took him two days to figure out how to contact her without alerting her boss, and another three to actually do so. Next came four restless days of waiting for her to get back to him, four days spent pacing and grumbling and twisting his handkerchief. Her response was short and completely not worth the wait.  _I'll do it._ He sent another message back.  _Meet me in Alternia City and I'll tell you everything._  It took him three days to get to Alternia City, but at least those days were spent moving. When he arrived, he learned that the Bronzelings had struck again; they'd burned down Her Imperiousness' summer palace and stolen some important documents. He was furious, of course, but he was too preoccupied to deal with it. He simply sent a couple men to the palace to inspect the damage.

(Besides, hadn't he decided where his loyalties lay? Not with Her, not anymore?)

She met him at his house with three sharp knocks on the door.

Her first words were, "I'll find Mindfang for you."

 

Her name was Scarlett Pyrope, and she was one of the few people that was talented enough to find somebody like Mariette and trustworthy enough that he could let her do so. The only problem was that she had a much different motive for finding her; she and Mariette had tangled several years back, and it'd resulted in multiple deaths, Mariette's disappearance, and the end of Scarlett's career. She hated Orpheus for his part in that, but she hated Mariette more.

They sat together in his private office, her sitting with her legs crossed at the ankles and her chin propped in her palm. She looked so freakishly professional, with a quill held loosely between her fingers and a sheaf of parchments laid on the table in front of her. She also looked faintly annoyed at the decorations in the room, but had the grace not to mention the rather garish swords that were mounted everywhere.

He mentioned them instead, saying offhandedly, "I apologize for the decorations. I was younger and had admittedly aw-wful taste when I bought this house."

She snorted, pushing her garish red glasses higher up her nose. "We don't all have the pleasure to own five houses, Ampora. No need to make it sound as though we should." Her voice was like the rest of her: sharp and wicked. There was also a slight cadence to it, a melodious rising and falling. He recognized the accent instantly and grimaced.

"You still talk to Makara?"

Her reply was bitingly sarcastic. "No, of course not. I only work with him on a regular basis."

He sighed, irritated. He'd forgotten how much he detested working with her. "Before I say anything else, w-will you promise not to tell him about this?"

She blinked at him from behind her glasses, and he watched as her eyes narrowed. "Give me a good reason not to."

Orpheus scowled. It took him several seconds to think of an answer she would agree to. She wouldn't care if Mariette got killed or if he was banished. She only cared about bringing Mariette to justice. There really was no other choice but to threaten her, and that was always a bad idea. For one thing, she was Makara's favorite weapon, and to mess with her was to mess with him and even Orpheus, who was Her Imperiousness' right hand, didn't mess with Carlos Makara. For another thing, Scarlett Pyrope could be even more terrifying than Mariette. She was a different kind of terror, but a scourge nonetheless.

Her kill count was rumored to be nearly double what it was officially stated to be, which was no easy matter.

Still, he didn't have another choice and if he thought any longer she would think he was lying. "I could get you exiled from the Mirthful Church."

Scarlett sprang to her feet, but it wasn't the sort of automatic reaction that other people had. On other people, it was a sign of weakness. On her, it was threatening. Scarlett was a five foot tall fireball with a tongue that could cleave through flesh. "Blasphemy and heresy," she spat, Makara's weird accent suddenly very prominent in her voice, "You have no control over the Church, Orpheus Ampora!"

He leaned over the table and retorted coldly, "No, but I can also frame you for the recent fire at Her Imperiousness' palace. She'd be more than happy to kill you."

Scarlett snapped back, "We both know you wouldn't survive a second in court with me." But she sat down anyways, because they both knew that Her Imperiousness didn't care about the facts. She just liked to place the blame. She huffed a little bit and then said, "I'm not going to promise not to tell Carlos what we're doing, because I do have a relationship I'd like to uphold. I will, however, ensure that it doesn't reach Her Imperiousness, which is your point. Correct?"

Orpheus was less hung up on the fact that she'd guessed his intentions and more startled by the fact that Scarlett Pyrope was courting Carlos Makara. Still, he managed not to ask a strange question and instead forced out, "I also don't w-want you to kill her."

Scarlett eyes narrowed and set her quill down on the dark wood of the desk. "Mr. Ampora, I know that you detest it when others talk to you as if you're stupid, but I'm afraid that, frankly, you're _very_ stupid." He bristled at that, but she continued, "Why would you ask  _me_  to help you find her if you don't want her dead? There are scores of other idiots out there who won't kill her."

"Yes, but, loathe as I am to admit it, you're the best," he replied easily.

Unfortunately, flattery didn't work on her.

"I will continue to operate under the assumption that you are not stupid and instead made a mistake and ask you why on  _earth_ I shouldn't kill that two-faced bitch?"

Orpheus slapped several papers down in front of her. "Because I'm hiring you and I want her aliv-ve."

She glared at him, but she couldn't say anything to that because he  _was_  in fact hiring her. And so she simply opened up the folder and started reading.

It had what little he knew, from the her known contacts (which was abysmal, because one name was listed there and he was dead) to her disappearance (which Scarlett already knew). There was a ten year gap between that and now, time she'd apparently spent by joining the Bronzelings. He still couldn't believe that Mariette Serket — ever elusive and never to take a side — had joined the  _Bronzelings._

After he was sure she'd finished, he asked, “Can you find her?”

Scarlett nodded, and there was a strange glint in her eyes. “I can't kill her, correct? Do I have permission to wreck havoc elsewhere?”

"Of course, if you do it discreetly. But if you hurt her, I'll hav-ve your head."

Scarlett stood up, slipping the papers into her binder. Her expression was disdainful, and she didn't even smile at him. "You're sentimental, Orpheus. You know she'd sooner tear you apart than court you again."

He smiled at her, but it was a cold smile. It was the type of smile that promised pain should she overstep her boundaries. "Believ-ve me. I'm more than w-willin' to kill her myself."

( _Liar, liar)_

Eyes narrowing, Scarlett gave a terse nod. "I'll be back in a week or so. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." And then she shut the door behind her with a crash and Orpheus sagged over his desk.

Scowling, he muttered, "One day, she's going to get herself into some real deep shit." He wasn't even sure if he meant Scarlett or Mariette.

* * *

 _Thief_  

Mariette woke up to the sound of birds shrieking. Her first thought was that it was horribly sunny. Her second thought was that she was very uncomfortable.

Her eyes flew open when she remembered the events of the night before, and she jerked upright. To her dismay, she was still in the wreckage of Her Imperiousness' summer palace. She swore and rose stiffly to her feet, ignoring the way her head moaned in protest. It took her a couple seconds of fumbling about and stubbing her toe on loose columns before she realized why she felt so heavy.

Her arm was broken.

Another string of curses flew from her lips, and she inspected the limp metal arm. It was still attached to her shoulder, although there was a rather impressive gash down her forearm. Wires sparked weakly when she tried to move her fingers, and a bolt of warmth shot through her shoulder. Angrily, she jerked down the neckline of her shirt to fumble at the spot on her shoulder where metal met flesh. Her fingers slipped easily into place, and the Zahhak family crest lit up blue. That same unpleasant warmth emanated from the metal, and her scowl deepened.

With a jolt, the arm fell off. It didn't disconnect fully and stopped just before it hit the ground, sending a spasm of pain across her shoulders and down her spine.

Eyes watering, she tore out the remaining wires, nearly biting her tongue off in the process. She tapped a couple more hidden buttons hopefully, but the damned thing refused to compress itself into its travel form.

In the end, she used her belt and necklace to create a makeshift strap for it. Slinging it over one shoulder, Mariette looked around.

The metal arm — whose warmth she could feel even through her shirt — did nothing to hinder her movement. Still, there wasn't much to see.

Everything had been burnt to the ground. It was a miracle that she was still alive and (mostly) well. A thought struck her, and she immediately scrambled towards the only part of the castle that hadn't burned down: the family mausoleum.

Having the family mausoleum in the same place as the summer palace felt like a really bizarre combination to Mariette, but she wasn't complaining.

It was the only stone structure in the entire place and, last she'd heard, Summer had been there.

"Summer!" she called, as loudly as she dared to. She had no idea who else was alive or who was around. "Summer! Where are you?" She tripped over a stray root and just barely remembered that she only had one arm. She hit the ground hard with her good shoulder first. Groaning, she sat up and rubbed her aching side.

She felt horrible. Her entire body hurt and her eye was aching worse than it had in  _years_. She slumped over and pulled off her eyepatch, rubbing dismally at the twisted mass of scar flesh that was all that remained of it.

"Summer!" she shouted again, this time as loudly as she physically could, "Where the fuck are you?!"

Something — the breeze? — caught her attention. She turned, surveying the landscape. The ruins of the palace were all around her, and the once beautiful mountain scenery was marred by black spikes of wood and ash.

"Summer?"

This time, she was able to hear the words in the noise. "Mare!"

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt nearly sick with hope and fear. "Summer! Where are you?"

She heard coughing and shot to her feet, scrambling towards the sound. Near the mausoleum, she found a pile of rubble that shifted dangerously despite the lack of wind. Crouching by it, she said again, "Summer!" She repeated it twice more, desperately searching for a hint of his dyed-red hair.

"Mariette!" His voice was muffled but most definitely coming from the pile of rubble.

She swore and scrambled to move the stuff on top of him. It was slow going, as she only had one arm and he was only half-conscious. By the time she was able to drag him out, the sun was high overhead and her back was streaked with sweat.

She quickly dragged him into the shade of the mausoleum, brushing his hair — white with ash — from his eyes with shaking fingers. "You fucking idiot," she snapped, "When I told you the roof was coming down, I meant for you to run the  _opposite_ direction of the maps!"

He laughed shakily and shoved his hand into his shirt. When he pulled out a fistful of papers — Her Imperiousness' battle plans and other important information — she smiled too. "I got them," he informed her triumphantly, reaching up to brush his hand against her face. She shook him off.

"Are you alright?" His lower half was streaked with blood, and she could see the white of bone.

"I think I'm fine," Summer said slowly, his smile fading.

Mariette scowled at him but didn't move. After all, his head was in her lap, and she didn't want to hurt him any more than he was already. "I thought we'd agreed that I was the liar in this relationship."

Summer avoided her eyes. "This is going to sound strange," he said carefully, "but I can't feel my legs."

She stared at him. "What."

Summer propped himself up on his elbows to look her in the eyes. "I can't feel my legs."

Mariette felt cold trickle down her spine. What was the rebellion supposed to do with a leader who couldn't even walk?

The same thought must have been running through Summer's head, because he laughed cruelly and said, "I guess you'll have to go on without me."

 _That_  spurred her into action. She slapped him with her good hand, and he gaped at her, shocked. "You  _fucking idiot_!" she cried again, angry with herself for not thinking quicker. "Look, your legs are broken and my arm is broken, aren't they?  _I'm_  still fine, aren't I?"

His eyes widened and he looked at her left sleeve, which hung loosely. The shoulder was stained red with blood and black with oil. She could feel more dripping down her side. "Do you think he could—"

"I  _know_ he could," she insisted. "We’re going to visit him  _right now_."

"But the plans!" he protested.

"Screw them," she snapped vehemently, "Her Imperiousness has been waiting to be overthrown for years already. She can wait a couple extra weeks." Without waiting for him to protest, she stood. Bodies littered the ruins of the palace, and she recognized both Imperial servants and guards and Bronzelings alike. Funny how death made everybody equal.  

She didn't bother shouting; if anybody — friendly or not — were near her, then they would have heard her shouting for Summer. Instead, she snatched Summer's horn from his belt and blew long and hard. It didn't sound as elegant or as pretty as Summer could make it, but it was still ear-piercingly loud.

There was a moment of silence and an answering horn rose from the grove of trees. She tilted her head, and let out three short blasts. A long call, quickly followed by two short ones, answered her.

"There," she said smugly to Summer, "See? There's still Bronzelings alive, and they'll get us out of here. As soon as we can, we'll go see him."

Summer nodded and sank back down weakly, eyes slipping shut. Mariette sat beside him and waited. He would have to fix this; he'd fix her and he'd damn well fix her fiancé. 

Besides, she didn't know what she'd do if she lost both Summer and the rebellion, for there was no doubt about what would happen should he be unable to lead it. She'd already lost too many people.

(But, in the end, hadn't it been her fault?)

It didn't matter. She wasn't losing Summer. She wouldn't let herself.

* * *

 

_Justice_

Scarlett stared at the ruined mess that was Her Imperiousness' summer palace, face carefully impassive. Inside, however, her heart was thundering. Around her, the ruins of Her Imperiousness' summer palace stretched like some kind of perverse battlefield. Even days after the fire, the wreckage was still terrifying to behold.

The wind coming off the ocean had pushed the fire further into the palace, and the fire had clearly lasted long enough to leave barely anything standing. All that remained was a scorched mausoleum, stone walls no more than three feet in height, and the odd wood pillar that had managed to survive.

The scent was nearly enough to make her feel faint, and living among the Mirthful Church had introduced Scarlett to all sorts of nasty smells.

With a huff, she turned away. She didn't need Ampora's reports to tell her that this was Bronzeling business. They'd never been very subtle.

(It amused her to know that Ampora had no idea who Mariette was, had no idea that she was both Mindfang and a powerful member of the Bronzelings. How little he knew, how little he understood.)

Realizing that she was shaking, Scarlett turned and took a deep breath.  _You're fine,_ she chided herself,  _You spend years working your way up at the Mirthful Church, and you can't even handle the sight of a few burnt bodies? Pitiful._

But that didn't change the fact that there were corpses  _everywhere._ A good amount of them clutched distorted weapons decorated with the distinct Bronzeling style: cheap metal, bronze colored inlays, wings carved haphazardly into hilts.

A voice came over her shoulder, sharp and demeaning. “I wouldn't touch anything if I were you, my lady.”

Scarlett turned and felt all of her nausea and fear flee in lieu of annoyance and pride. Her eyes — hidden behind her favorite red glasses — critically scanned the speaker. He was one of Ampora's men, sent to examine the site of the fire to assess the damage and to take any captives that they could. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, knowing that she made an intimidating figure despite her height.

She always did her best to wear men's dress clothes that made her look terrifyingly professional. Her heels gave her a couple inches, but she'd never bothered trying to appear anything other than short. Sure enough, Ampora's man flushed and took a couple steps back.

Scarlett flashed a grin at him. She had three smiles: the small, professional one she used most when visiting Her Imperiousness' court while on Carlos' business, the wide, genuine grin that very rarely slipped out, and the viciously wicked grin she used to make grown men piss their pants.

(It didn't work on Carlos, of course, but his smile was just as terrifying as hers could be)

When she spoke, her voice was deliberately cheerful. “I think I know  _much_ more than you about what I can and cannot do.”

His face was now turning an interesting shade of yellow, she noted with relish. Her love of colors had always been strong, but she'd taken more note of them since she'd met Carlos. He loved colors too, although his interest in them was a little more bloody than hers.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, clearly burning at addressing the head of the Mirthful Church's  _secretary_ as "my lady". It was a good thing he thought she was only a secretary, or else he'd call her something  _much_ more insulting. “But a scene like this isn't fit for your eyes.”

Scarlett sighed inwardly, although she made no outward change. She just wanted to find proof that Mindfang had been here and then get out of here. She turned away and waved an airy hand over her shoulder. “Tell that to somebody who cares,” she said shortly, “Now go help your friends cart bodies away or whatever it is you're doing here.”

Now he was turning slightly purple. Still, he gave the slightest bow he possibly could and muttered, “My lady.”

Scarlett stalked off, taking care to step around anything that might dirty the jacket. The shoes couldn't be helped. Once she was far enough away that she could no longer feel his stare, she relaxed and started looking for signs of Mindfang in earnest.

She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for, and she spent more time than she would have liked debating with Ampora's lackeys her right to walk in the ruins.

They were all well-bred lackeys, with Ampora's gold and purple crest on their breasts and their manners sharply professional to mirror her own. They didn't dare drag her bodily away, not when their master had ordered them to treat her as they might him.

She returned their forced politeness with a cheery give-no-fucks attitude until they just started avoiding her altogether.

Pleased, Scarlett started towards the mausoleum. 

The first thing she noticed was a pile of rubble that had clearly been handled by humans. She raised her hand and beckoned to the nearest soldier. He grimaced but trotted towards her.

Scarlett asked, “Did you find any bodies here?”

He shook his head. “A couple on the other side, though.”

She nodded and walked over to look. It was too hot to jog and she wasn't wearing clothes made for this weather.

Oh, the sacrifices she made to uphold her reputation.

She knelt to examine the two bodies they discovered, feeling her nausea return when she realized one was the body of a child. Both were servants, and she stood quickly. “Any—” She stopped, clearing her throat. “Was there anyone else?”

The soldier shook his head. “No, my lady.”

Scarlett nodded and returned to the pile of rubbish. Heart in her throat, she began to dig. Among the ash and char, she found blood stains, and a considerable amount at that. Still, there hadn't been a body, which meant that this person had survived. The Bronzelings had left their dead unburied, as they had in dozens of battles the past several years.

They were heathens, the lot of them.

She'd just given up when she saw a scrap of metal half hidden under a log. It had clearly fallen, and its silver color blended almost perfectly with the ashes, despite all the blood. Frowning, because the scrap was shinier than even her shoes despite her care, she picked it up to examine it.

It was small, barely four inches across, but the insignia was one of the most distinctive marks in Alternia's recent history.

Scarlett dropped it as if it'd been as hot as the fire that had ravaged the palace. The image on the metal was seared into her mind. She doubted that most people would recognize it for what it was, despite its infamous history, and yet she knew exactly what it meant. 

A slow grin spread across her lips, and she quickly snatched it up again. If she acted quickly, she might be able to find Mindfang before she moved on.

“Get me my horse!” she called. Her clothes would be ruined, but she'd rather have to buy a new set than lose Mindfang again. 

There was no way in hell she was escaping. Not again. 

 


	3. till the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alliances are discovered, locations are betrayed, and the past is brought up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is really late. I'm sorry about that! But here's the last chapter in this short fic. 
> 
> Some notes: there is some cutting off of limbs in this chapter, but it's not described in detail.

_Thief_  

Mariette had left the rest of the Bronzelings behind half a day ago, instructing them to head back to headquarters and tend to the wounded. She and Summer would head to Zahhak's home alone. She'd spent too much time insuring his safety to risk it on a couple of Bronzelings blabbing too much after a few glasses of rum.

Summer lay in a small wagon, sleeping heavily. The rest of their supplies lay around his body, along with a tarp she could use to cover the wagon in case they happened upon Imperial Guards or rain.

Mariette led their sturdy mule by hand, taking care to leave as little a mark as possible. She sighed and draped the mule's reins back over its head. The creature would follow her as long as it could see her. With her hand now freed, she reached up and massaged her left shoulder, which was aching fiercely.

The movement hurt as much as it helped. While it relieved the knot that had built up last night, it also send waves of fire into the spot where her nerves turned to wires.

“Darius is going to kill me,” she muttered to the mule. The last time she'd broken the arm so badly, a woman named Scarlett Pyrope had dropped a house on it.

(She'd lost her original arm to that same woman years before, along with her mother and the right to her family's coffers)

The mule didn't understand, and so it didn't reply. Mariette sighed and looked back at Summer. He'd slept most of their journey, something she was grateful for. When he was awake, the pain and fear made him irritable, and the wound in his hand was acting up again.

It'd barely healed before, but at least the skin had been growing back. She'd had to bandage it when she'd noticed it bleeding. Again.

Blithely, she thought,  _At least he still_ has  _the hand._ Granted, his last two fingers could no longer go completely straight, but he could still shoot a bow.

When they finally got to Zahhak's home, Mariette tied the mule to one of the trees at the foot of the stairs that clung to the side of the cliff until his doorway opened up. With a sigh, she started up the steps. As she'd expected, Darius knew she was there before she'd even gotten to the top. He didn't bother coming down to her, merely lounging in the doorway, face expressionless beneath his square glasses.

Irritably, she propped her right hand on her hip, struggling to control her breathing. His stairs were ridiculously steep and long. Why he couldn't just have a normal safe house in a normal place instead of a hidden mansion in the jungle was beyond her. “You couldn't even come down to greet me?” she snapped.

Darius merely raised his thick brows. He was a mountain of a man, taller even than Orpheus, with a long, straight nose and a wide mouth. His hair was long and straight, falling in black rivers over his shoulders and down his back. His hands were huge too, always trembling and sweating unless he was building something. His face was always shiny with sweat, although she'd long since gotten used to it.

Once upon a time, Darius Zahhak had truly been a force to behold. He'd been Her Imperiousness' favorite executioner, and he'd had friends in high places. After his mistake — which nobody talked about ever in his company because that was practically inviting death into your home — he was now a shadow of the force he'd been before.

He normally did his best to appear as small as possible, despite his sheer body mass. It was only at times like this, when he was irritated with her, that he appeared as powerful as he'd once been.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked quietly. That was another thing about him. Darius never yelled if he could help it. His voice — soft as it was — held enough steel to make even her falter, especially when he was at his noblest.

Mariette sighed and let her flesh arm dangle loosely. “Oh, you know, same as last time!” She grinned at him, batting her lashes. Her eye patch sat at the bottom of her pocket; there was no need to hide the scarring from the man who'd patched her up in the first place.

Darius' eyebrows climbed even further. Any more and it'd vanish into his hair, an impressive feat considering his widow's peak. “A house fell on you.” His voice was dry.

Mariette laughed as if he'd said something humorous. “Of  _course_ not, Darius! What kind of person would I be if I let a silly little house fall on me?” She noticed the corners of his lips turning down into a scowl and hastily added, “It was a palace, not a house.” As much as she loved to torment him, she was the one who needed help, and she wasn't sure whether she'd be able to convince him that his debt to her still hadn't been paid.

Darius' expression went completely blank again, and she knew she'd gotten through to him. Any emotion other than anger rendered Darius as impassive as a statue. If she could still read him, she would guess that he was worried.

 _Good, that means he'll help_ , she thought, feeling suddenly exhausted. Seeing Darius again was like seeing her past, before she'd met Summer and stolen Her Imperiousness' trident. She wasn't proud of that past, and she hated being reminded of it.

But then Darius said drily, “And why should I help you when you might have led Imperial soldiers to my home?”

Mariette shrieked with rage and flew at him, pummeling his barrel-like chest uselessly with her fist. “You—fucking—bastard!” she snarled, “I—built—this—place—for—you!” She stepped back, wringing her aching hand. Her glare was no less fierce, and her lips curled into a snarl. “Why the fucking hell would I be stupid enough to bring fucking soldiers here?! Just help me!”

Darius’s dark eyes moved from her to the mule and its wagon at the bottom of the steps. “I'll fix your arm,” he said finally, and she threw her hand in the air and muttered  _well thank fucking god we got that sorted out_ as sarcastically as she could when he added, “But I want no part in whatever that is.” He gestured loosely at the wagon.

“You better want a part in that,” she snapped. He always had known how to push her buttons. “Because that's my fiancé and you're making him some legs.”

Darius looked at her. “No.”

Mariette smiled sweetly at him. “ _Yes_.” His eyes bored into her hers, and whatever he saw in there made him shrug.

“Fine. But only so you won't nag.” He turned into the shadowy hallways within the house. “You better find a way to bring him up, Serket.”

Mariette didn't fight him. She rarely knew when to stop pushing, but her relationship with Darius was too precarious to risk.

In the end, she stumbled down and woke Summer. Between their five limbs, they somehow managed to get him up the steps and into Darius' hallway, where he was waiting. Exhausted and in pain, she thrust her metal arm into his arms and hissed, “You're awful.”

He merely looked down at Summer disdainfully. They'd met once before, when she'd stupidly gone into a snowstorm and frosted her arm over and nearly lost what was left of her shoulder. Neither cared for the other, although Summer was willing to be civil to Darius for Mariette. Darius would have thrown Summer off the balcony and into the yard if the horses hadn't been there.

“Let me see your shoulder,” Darius ordered.

Mariette shook off her shirt, uncaring that she was wearing nothing but a brassiere underneath. Summer protested quietly, but she willingly turned her side to Darius, pushing her hair out of the way. He stared at it and then glared at her.

“Did you  _rip_ it out?” he demanded.

“Shut up and give me a timeframe,” she retorted.

He frowned at the mess of wires and metal and then looked down at the arm he held. “You tore my crest out,” he said reproachfully.

She leaned over and looked at where the metal scale had been before. “I didn't notice,” she said, and then added drily, “I had other things on my mind.”

Darius looked back at her shoulder and then said quietly, “Four days for you.”

She blinked in surprise. It'd taken nearly a week to fix the arm the time a house had fallen on it.

Darius examined Summer, who did his best not to shrink into his scrutiny. “Two weeks for him.”

Mariette sagged, relieved. She had thought it would take much more time than that.

Darius examined the two of them, his thoughts inscrutable beneath his glasses and straight mouth. “You'll be the one caring for him, and you'll be the one removing his current legs.” Both Summer and Mariette paled at that, although Mariette nodded. She barely remembered Darius caring for her when she'd been raving from infection and fever, and she didn't remember that he'd had to cut more of her arm off to be able to attach her metal one at all. She'd only been told about that after she'd woken up.

Darius leaned down and scooped Summer into his arms. Summer yelped but didn't protest, merely gritting his teeth and scowling.

Mariette shrugged her shirt back on and followed. “Put him in my old room,” she said tiredly, “That way I can watch him.”

“I'm  _fine_ ,” Summer pointed out.

“You won't be once you have two bleeding stumps,” she shot back cruelly. Nodding to Darius, she said, “We'll do that tonight, so it can heal while you make his legs. Get the measurements you need and then bring the proper tools to me.”

Summer gaped at her, but Mariette ignored him. Her head was swimming and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep.

To Darius, she added, “You're also holding him down because I can't do everything,  _and_ you're drugging him.”

Darius thought about it, pushing open doors with his shoulders as he padded deeper into his house. His footsteps were shockingly quiet for a man his size. Finally, he said, “I'll cut, you hold. I'll know better where to cut.” Once he entered Mariette's room, he dumped Summer into her bed. “I'll take measurements first.”

Pale-faced and sweating, Summer gasped, “Mariette, please—”

She shushed him by pressing a kiss to his brow. “It'll be fine,” she promised, giving him the brightest smile she could. Still, she couldn't watch as Darius measured and muttered, sitting at the foot of the bed and resting her forehead on her knees.

She never prayed, although she knew that Summer did sometimes. Now, she sent a brief thought up towards his gods, one specifically to the Lady of Luck and her consort, the Lord of Breath.  _Please, keep him alive._

* * *

 

_Noble_

Orpheus felt like screaming. If he wasn't an Ampora and Her Imperiousness' right hand man, he just might have. The servants were avoiding him, recognizing that he was in one of his rages.

He paced back and forth in his bedroom, his boots clicking satisfyingly on the hardwood.  _Where the hell is Scarlett?!_

Not that he expected her to be back yet. She'd said a week, and it'd barely been four days. But he'd been on edge ever since his men's reports had come back. Her Imperiousness' palace had been the fault of the Bronzelings.  When she learned that he'd let one of her entire palaces get burned to the ground, she would be pissed.

More than pissed. She would be  _incensed_.

Even worse, she'd been keeping sensitive documents about the war with the rebels stored there, and there was no way to know if they'd burned or been stolen. Orpheus growled. His bedroom was too small for this. He turned and burst through the double doors, sweeping down the hall and right into somebody much smaller than he was.

He jerked backwards, about to shout at who he assumed was a maid. To his shock, he saw the distinctly red glasses and spiky hair of Scarlett Pyrope. Even more shocking was that her normally crisp attire was a mess. There was sweat, dirt, and blood on her skin, and she was wearing a shirt that was much too big for her. "Holy—"

She cut him off immediately. "Just don't, Orpheus. It's been a long day and I just want information." He could only stare as she held out a shard of metal. He stared at her until she shook it impatiently.

"You look aw-wful," he said earnestly, taking the piece from her, "Do you w-want some w-water at least?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Just look at it, Orpheus. Do you know where he is or not?"

Orpheus looked down at the scrap of metal. It was smeared with ash, but he would recognize that sigil anywhere. His eye narrowed as he tore his eyes from the vivid blue arrow, memories of a failed uprising flashing through his mind. "W-where the  _hell_  did you find this?!"

She sneered at him. "Where do you think? For somebody who hates being treated like he's stupid, you sure act like you're stupid a lot."

He scowled, which he seemed to be doing a lot of lately. "Don't be difficult."

She flashed her teeth at him in a merciless grin. "Just tell me where Zahhak is, Ampora."

Unable to help it, Orpheus' fingers whitened as he clenched the shard in his fist. He didn't  _need_ any of this. All he wanted was to find Mariette and— what? Talk to her? Ask her where the hell she'd gone? Why she'd never tried to contact him? He shoved those thoughts away; he could deal with them  _later._ "I have no idea. He vanished after he was caught harboring those kids."

She clicked her tongue impatiently. "Ampora! I am doing my utmost to not treat you like you're stupid! Please return the favor. Of fucking  _course_ I know Zahhak had vanished. My mother was one of the people commissioned to go after him." She sighed and looked around, some of the edge melting from her shoulders. "Actually, water sounds good. This looks like it'll be a long conversation."

Orpheus' grimace deepened. Long conversations with Scarlett were generally best to be avoided. He nonetheless led her to the sitting room and sat her down on his thousand dollar love seat, because he was a decent human being and she looked like she was going to pass out. But his fingers were itching, and he wanted to shake her and shout,  _W-where is Mariette? W-what does Zahhak have to do with this?_

Scarlett laughed, and he realized that he must've spoken aloud. Flushing slightly — at least he hadn't shouted — he snapped, "Well?"

She cackled shortly, a sound identical to Carlos' awful laughter. "Oh my god, I take it back; you  _are stupid_."

"Shut up, Pyrope," he snarled, grabbing a chair and sitting in it backwards, so that the back of the chair served as a barrier between her and him. She took a glass of water from one of the maids with a crooked smile — how many faces this woman had — and smiled humorlessly at him.

"Serket is one of his allies. The two of them have had a long and wildly successful partnership, by which I mean that neither of them are dead yet. His only link to the Bronzelings is Serket. There is no other reason his symbol would be at the Palace." She was silent for a moment, as if she couldn't believe that she'd had to spell that out for him. "So. Do you know where he is or not?"

Orpheus exhaled, long and hard and unhappily. "No." Her expression became derisive, and she moved to stand. Something occurred to him and he added, "But I might be able to find out. Wait here." He stood and ran towards his office, no longer caring to keep up appearances.

Darius Zahhak had been in training to be Her Imperiousness' personal executor. He would have gotten riches, titles, and land, but he'd thrown it all away to save two brats. Orpheus had only been a teenager when the whole debacle had gone down, but he'd seen the Imperial guards drag Zahhak into the terrifying prison reserved for the to-be-executed. The two kids — children of the leaders of the last major rebellion — had escaped. The Empire had squashed that rebellion when Orpheus had been a child, which was a good thing. That war had been led by infidels, not rebels. Infidels were more dangerous. Rebels challenged the government. Infidels challenged the  _ideas_ behind the government.

As he got into his office, Orpheus grabbed the books sitting on his desk and began rifling through them. It was information gleaned from what few spies he'd managed to sneak into the Bronzelings' ranks. The shipments record in particular held questions, questions which he now knew the answer to. He scanned it quickly, searching for one line in particular.

"Shipment of unknown object to [41.403, 2.125] (estimated) by the Marquise. No connections with the Summoner." At the time, he'd wondered what that'd meant. The Marquise, whose identity had been even more elusive than the Summoner's, rarely did things without her Summoner.

Orpheus felt a twinge of longing. If only he'd known that the Summoner was the man with the rogue's grin and the red-tipped hair.  He'd  _had_ him. He could've ended this rebellion but he'd squandered his chance. And then there was Mariette. Damned Mariette.

If only he'd known that, all this time, the feared Marquise of the Bronzelings' rebellion was none other than the little girl who'd stolen jewelry with him when he was ten.

Pushing aside those thoughts, he grabbed his map and traced a finger across it, finding the coordinates immediately. His finger landed in a patch of green, right above an elaborate swirl of color.

_Sagittarius Forest._

How fitting.

Scarlett's expression when he dropped the map in her lap was laughable. He tapped a finger at the coordinates. She shoved her glass of water at one of the maids and leaned over to examine the map. “You've known where he was—”

“No,” he replied impatiently, “I knew that the Marquise — Mariette — had ties to somebody here. I didn't know-w who.”

She nodded slowly. “So you finally figured out she's with the Bronzelings.”

His expression sharpened instantly. “You knew-w.”

Her smile was terrifying in that moment. “Oh, you have  _no idea_ what I know.”

He sat down so that he wouldn't punch her, but she was already up, pacing back and forth, face thoughtful.

He watched her for several seconds before snapping, “Pyrope.”

Without missing a step, she retorted, “Ampora.” She paused and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I'm going after her again. If I'm fast, she might still be there.”

Orpheus tensed, watching that meeting play out in his mind. Though unofficially, Scarlett was one of Makara's most elite agents. He used her when he didn't want the crown's name attached to his dealings. She was well known among people in Orpheus' class as a perpetrator of the Chruch's bloody will, and its will was often very violent.

Darius — who was both an exile and a traitor — would react hostilely should she show up on his doorstep fully armed.

And, knowing her, she'd kill Nitram and maybe Zahhak and injure Mariette.

“I'll come with you."

She finally stopped moving, spinning around to glare at him. Her glares were legendary, but he was determined. “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am.”

A brittle smile flashed across her lips. “No. You hired me to do my job, so let me do my job.”

Something in Orpheus’ head was urging him  _hurry hurry hurry._ He didn't have time to argue with her. “Fine. But you better be back in a week,  _with_ Serket.”

Scarlett laughed. “Of course.” She turned on her heel and left, chin high and steps purposeful.

Wordlessly, Orpheus began gathering the things he'd need for a journey.

* * *

  _Thief_

Mariette sat on top of Darius’ worktable, fiddling with a couple nuts and bolts, threading the nut up and down. It was harder with one hand, but she was managing.  He was silent, bent over his work. One leg was already finished, sitting innocuously on the table between them. It was smoother and more refined than her arm had been, its metal joints slipping flawlessly together.

She accidentally dropped the nut and waited, wondering if it was worth it to get down and search for it. In the end, she decided it wasn't. Darius' workshop was a mess, mechanical parts scattered all over the floor. It would be hell looking for one solitary nut, especially as she was still down one arm. The quiet sounds of Darius working paused and she looked at him. He was inspecting her, eyes unfathomable behind his lenses — dark, square, and cracked. "What?" she snapped testily. She'd been up since three with Summer the night before, and she felt exhausted and guilty.

Summer wouldn't blame her, but it didn't matter. It was her fault that he didn't have any legs right now, and she hated to see him in pain.

Darius looked back down at his work. "You look awful."

She huffed in irritation. "Of course I look awful! I haven't had any proper sleep since — god, I don't even know. Before the last ambush."

As always, his expression shuttered at the mention of her alliances. Her lip curled in distaste and she grabbed another screw to play with. Any reminder of the two children — a boy and a girl — he'd once saved ruined his mood immediately. It always made her wonder what about them had a made a man so passive and blinded by the crown as Darius risk his life to save them? Nobody even knew where they were now. She didn't dare bring it up, and so neither did he. They fell back into uncomfortable silence once again.

After several more minutes, he asked, "Why do you love him?"

She stared at him. That was so completely  _not_ what she'd been expecting. " _What?_ "

He refused to meet her eyes. "You heard me, Mariette."

Mariette shoved the nuts and screws away. "Oh, I most  _definitely_ heard you. You just normally hate talking about him, so it's just a little shocking to hear you ask about it!" He was silent, and so she thought. She supposed she loved Summer. She definitely found him attractive. But love? Love was a bizarre concept to her. She'd thought she'd loved Orpheus, but he'd chosen his job over her. Love was baggage. It was messy and limiting and fickle. She was  _loyal_  to Summer. She'd fight for him, die for him, live for him. Was that love? She didn't think so. What she had with Summer was deeper than flowers and sex and moonlit walks.

 _And you helped to cut his legs off_.

Angrily, Mariette shook her head. "What the hell do you care anyways?"

He slammed his wrench onto the table, startling her. He so rarely did loud things anymore. "Because I care about you, so help me Void! And because I haven't seen anything positive come of any of your relationships."

She scoffed. "Says you!"

He counted on his fingers. "Orpheus Ampora, Arachne Serket, Pyralia Pyrope,  _Scarlett_  Pyrope, and now your Bronzeling boy."

She almost left the room. Only his disapproving look kept her in place. With forced patience, she snapped, "Orpheus was not my fault! He was the one who stopped associating with me—"

"Because you were arrested. He was a bad influence."

"—and my mother was a crazy bitch who shouldn't have been raising kids—"

"Or trafficking humans. Also a bad influence."

"—and the Pyralia case had nothing to do with me! She just got herself in way too deep—"

"Wrong!" Darius' voice was cold. "Pyralia had your mother justly executed and so you unjustly murdered her."

"Which you can't prove," she snipped. "And don't even get me  _started_  on Scarlett! She's a crazy bitch too, and what happened between us wouldn't have gotten so out-of-hand if she'd just admitted that she was in the wrong—"

"Need I remind you that you murderered her mother?"

"—and Summer is nothing like any of those people!" She glared at him. "For one thing, we're not triyng to kill each other. For another, it's  _mutual_!"

He nodded thoughtfully. "It is."

She gaped at him. "So what was the point of bringing up my ex, my mother, my mother's murderer, and the girl who dropped a house on me?!"

Darius' expression was strangely lucid, his entire body tilted towards her. He normally kept himself shut off, but now he was completely focused on her. "To make sure you knew."

She rolled her eyes. Any other day and she'd call bullshit, but she was feeling forgiving right now. And so she merely snorted. "Just hurry up and finish the fucking legs." 

* * *

  _Justice_

Scarlett made it to the specified coordinates in record time. She had nothing but her sword, a crossbow, and the clothes on her back.

The "Zahhak Mansion" was a monster of a house, built subtly into a tall cliff face. A set of steep stairs wound through the trees and cut into the cliff. Scarlett stopped, frowning. The stairs were the only way into the house, and it was in full view of all of the windows.

She'd have to wait until night fell.

She was itching to get in, desperate to get her fingers around Serket's face.

Orpheus was still hopelessly in love with her, more fool him. She was a snake, willing to betray those she loved if it furthered her own interests.

After all, hadn't she cut him off so that she could steal things without any repercussions?

Scarlett had never loved Serket, not in the way Orpheus did. But she had trusted her, and Serket had used that trust to murder Pyralia Pyrope.

Scarlett hadn't trusted anybody since.

As soon as night fell, she raced up the stairs, praying to the Seer that nobody would think to look out the windows.

She entered the house quietly and looked around. The door led into a plain entrance hall, unlit save for a single candle that sputtered on an otherwise empty table.

As Scarlett moved throughout the house, she found that much the norm. Almost every room was unlit and bare. Zahhak clearly didn't enjoy decorating. There were a couple rooms full of tools and metal scraps, but even those were thrown haphazardly into piles that could only generously be called organized.

It was easy to find the occupants of the house; she need only follow the sound of arguing.

"For fuck's sake, Summer! That was my foot!"

"I can't feel my legs, Mare, you know that."

As quietly as possible, Scarlett fitted a bolt into her crossbow and raised it, creeping around the corner.

She poked her head around briefly, just to see.

Zahhak — easily recognizable despite the deterioration of the command he'd once held — was sitting at a raised counter, hands folded and eyes on the man and woman standing in the middle of the kitchen.

The man looked ragged and exhausted, his body covered in what looked like freshly healed wounds. His legs seemed too stiff, too bright, too smooth. They reflected the candlelight in bright flashes and curves.

With a burst of shock, Scarlett realized that they must be metal prosthetics, far more intricate than any she'd seen before.

She stuck her head out again, and her eyes fell on Mariette. With savage pleasure, Scarlett realized she was missing an arm. She, too, was covered in fresh wounds, but the scar tissue that patterned her left eye was old.

In the back of her mind, Scarlett remembered a scream, desperate thrashing, the feeling of cold metal between her fingers, and the warm stickiness of blood and other fluids as they dripped down her arm.

(She didn't remember wrenching the blade downwards or picking the mess of Mariette's eyeball from beneath her fingernails)

The man had one arm over Mariette's shoulders, and the two bickered familiarly as she helped him walk circles around the kitchen.

Scarlett stepped in and, in one fluid movement, pointed the crossbow at the smaller man's — Summer's — chest. "Hello again, Serket," she said cheerfully.

* * *

  _Quickly_

Mariette hadn't heard that voice in years, but even now it caused such an intense feeling of danger that she physically shoved Summer behind her and stepped between him and the voice. He crumpled to the ground with a cry, but she hardly noticed.

Her eyes met the all too familiar eyes of Scarlett Pyrope.

Scarlett calmly held her crossbow up, pointing the tip at Mariette's chest. "Zahhak! Get behind the counter, please!" Her smile was oh-so-bright.

He hesitated, but Mariette met his eyes. His brow furrowed, and he obeyed. She swallowed and returned her gaze to Scarlett. Behind her, she could feel Summer's hand grasping for hers.

But she couldn't worry about him right now. She could trust Darius to stay safe; Summer was helpless right now. And there was no way in hell that she'd lose him to  _Scarlett Pyrope_.

Scarlett quietly asked, "Did you even regret it?"

Mariette knew exactly what she was talking about, but she feigned innocence anyways. "Regret what?"

Scarlett snarled and stepped closer. "Killing my mother! What other horrible atrocities have you committed that I don't know about?"

Mariette's hand inched down towards her waist, but her sword was leaning against the wall all the way across the room. Useless! How the hell had Scarlett even found this place, anyways?! "I was merely taking my revenge. Pyralia killed my mother."

"My mother sentenced Arachne to death for  _trafficking human beings_ ," Scarlett scoffed, "It's hardly the same thing!"

"And I was a foolish child!" Mariette shot back.

"You were eighteen."

Summer's hand found hers, and he squeezed her fingers desperately. He had no idea what was going on; she'd never told him her history with Scarlett or Orpheus. She'd never imagined that either would ever come back to haunt her. 

Scarlett's expression hardened and she said quietly, "I'm going to kill you, Mariette. Her Imperiousness will give me a fortune for taking down the dreaded Marquise."

Summer dragged himself to his feet and declared, "I'd sooner die."

Scarlett looked at him. "That can be arranged, you know. If I bring  _you_  to Her Royal Imperiousness, I'm sure I'll want for nothing."

Mariette angrily shoved Summer back behind her. "Leave them both alone, Scarlett! I'm the one you want, right? Leave them alone, and I'll come quietly."

Surprise flashed across Scarlett's face; Mariette had been far colder the last time they'd met. But she nodded reluctantly; despite everything, Scarlett still held herself to some form of justice, as warped as it was. Neither Darius nor Summer had personally done anything to her, and so she had no reason to kill them. ". . . deal."

Mariette relaxed. Now that she no longer had to worry about the others, she could deal with Scarlett alone. She took a step forwards and saw too late the other's finger tense on the trigger.

Eyes wide with shock — the Scarlett she'd known would  _never_ kill somebody without a fair trial — she could only watch as the bolt whistled towards her skull. The next thing she knew, something heavy hit the back of her knees and she went toppling down. The bolt just narrowly missed her, and she heard Scarlett scream.

"Thanks," she said quickly to Summer, who looked painfully relieved.

"Don't you  _dare_ do that again," he snarled, eyes blown wide with terror. The two looked up, and Mariette's jaw dropped.

Scarlett was lying flat on her back, her arms held down by a man wearing the finest traveling cloak she'd ever seen. She only knew one person who would be stupid enough to travel in something so fucking  _expensive._

Scarlett snarled, "Traitor."

Orpheus replied evenly, "I told you not to kill her."

Mariette exclaimed, " _You're_ the one who sicced that bitch on me?"

"I didn't know-w you had a history with her!" Orpheus retorted.

"Like hell you didn't!"

He scowled at her. " _You_ don't get to talk, Mare! I've got a fuckton of questions for you."

"Likewise," she shot back, heart thundering in her throat. Orpheus was  _here_. Here!

Scarlett snapped, "Oh, Sylph's stars! What the hell are you going to do now? You can't release me! I'll tell Carlos where you are, and he'll destroy you all!"

Summer said quietly, "We can imprison you, though. We can bring you back to our camp." While once he would have jumped at the chance to imprison Dualscar, Ampora had just saved Mariette's life.

Scarlett blanched. "Carlos will notice—”

"Makara can find a new playtoy," Mariette retorted. "Darius, throw me some rope."

Quickly, the four of them managed to tie Scarlett up. When they were finished, Darius cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll get her situated in one of the bedrooms."

From his spot on the counter, Summer asked mildly, "Would somebody mind explaining what's going on?"

Orpheus stared at Mariette, drinking in the sight of her. She looked a little more broken than he'd last seen her, but it was undoubtably still her. Beneath the scars and the missing limbs and the confidence of requited love, it was easy to pick out the girl who'd shoved him into a party's kitchen.

He pulled his fist back and punched her in the face.

She yelped and staggered backwards, one hand on her nose. Summer made to stand, but she held her hand up. "No, I probably deserved that."

"Probably?!" Orpheus gaped at her. "You  _fuckin left me_."

She shot back, "It was your father that turned my mother in!"

Orpheus took a step back. "He wouldn't have. He loved her."

 "The Pyropes were right though," she said quietly, "She was trafficking slaves. And I couldn't very well associate with you after that. You were trying to become a general in Her Imperiousness' army! I was the daughter of a known criminal."

He looked away. He knew that, of course. But still— "You couldn't even have said goodbye? You couldn't have given me the slightest hint that you were even still alive?"

Mariette shrugged helplessly. "You were a  _noble_ , Orpheus. I was a thief."

He took a step towards her. "I'm not letting you go again. I'll follow you into Hell if I have to."

Her eyes flashed to Summer, who was watching the exchange with a carefully blank expression, and then back to the noble before her. "Orpheus, I'm  _engaged._ I'm sorry. We just didn't work out."

He rolled his eyes. "I figured that much out. I'm still not leaving."

Mariette and Summer exchanged a meaningful glance. They had to get back to the Bronzeling Headquarters. Summer still had Her Imperiousness' battle plans, and they had to drop off Scarlett.

Mariette asked, voice hard and eyes keen, "Would you betray us, if your beloved Empress asked you to?"

Orpheus' response was immediate. "Nev-ver you. Nev-ver again."

Her smile grew crooked. As far apart as they'd grown, she knew that, when he used that tone, he was telling the truth. "Well then. Welcome to the wrong side of the law, Ampora."

He looked vaguely horrified. "Holy  _fuck_ , I'm a traitor."

She laughed. "Took you long enough."

* * *

 That night, Summer and Mariette sat together in his bedroom.

His eyes were closed as he leaned against her chest, and she combed her fingers through his hair and traced circles over his bare stomach.

"Hey, Mare?"

"Yeah?"

"What does this mean, now that Orpheus has joined us?"

She hesitated. "He wouldn't make a very good spy."

Summer nodded. "I wouldn't trust him not to betray us."

"Especially when faced with the Empress herself. She's always had a disturbing amount of sway over him. But he has lots of valuable information, and I'm sure I can persuade him to. . . ." She trailed off; Summer was shaking his head.

"I mean  _us_. Me. You."

Puzzled, she asked, "Has he joined us?"

Summer caught her hand and squeezed it. "I think so. He loves you, and you love him."

Mariette squeezed her eyes shut. "I told you I would stay loyal. Just because—"

Summer shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm alright with it."

Her eyes flew open and she leaned over to look him in the eyes. "Summer," she said slowly, "are you telling me that you're fine not being in a perfectly monogamous relationship?"

Summer grinned at her. "You're not my first lover, Mariette. I've been in polyamorous relationships before."

She stared at him. "Holy  _hell_."

A sly grin flashed across his face. "Also, he's pretty good looking."

Mariette snorted aloud. A burst of affection erupted within her chest, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead.  "Wow, way to be subtle!" But then her expression softened and she added, "Thank you. But I think I'll wait. The wounds are too raw right now."

 

He agreed.

 

Eventually, the three of them traveled to Headquarters. They kept a guard on Scarlett at all times, and Mariette and Orpheus spent many, many sessions planning and debating and flirting.

It didn't take long for Orpheus and Mariette to officially become an item, or for Mariette to become the point in their strange triangle.

Orpheus was incredibly shy about the entire thing, constantly checking in with Summer and staying within his boundaries and remembering safewords.

 

Summer found it adorable.

 

In between battles and raids and heists, they flirted and laughed and chanced a moment or two (or eight) to grope in dark corners and behind trees.

Three was easier than two and two, and Summer never had been very good at being left out.

And so somehow, somewhere, Orpheus and Mariette and Summer fell in love all over again.

He met her in a starlit dance of stolen jewelry and bejeweled dresses. She met him amid daring heists and back-alley deals. He met him in a cell of chance rescues and lucky meetings.

They found themselves in each other, and found their futures together.

A thief, a noble, and a rebel makes an unlikely trio, but they somehow manage. Somehow, they'll complete this rebellion and restore their country to what it should be and maybe — just _maybe_ — survive to tell the tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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